Why Did I Start Wolf and Blue?

Yeah, I love film. That’s the easy answer.

But the truth? I was tired of waking up every day just to keep someone else’s machine running. You work, you grind, and when you break down—emotionally, physically, whatever—they don’t blink. They just replace you. Swap you out like a used gear and keep the wheel turning.

I didn’t want to be a cog. I didn’t want to live my whole damn life renting out my time to someone who'd never think twice about letting me go.

So I started Wolf and Blue. Not just because I had a dream—but because I needed a shot. A real one. At freedom, at ownership, at something that couldn’t be taken from me with a layoff or a new policy change. I didn’t start a production company because it was cool. I did it because it was the only road that made sense.

Now look—The Old Man, in His infinite wisdom and love, gave me a handful of gifts. I wasn't meant to build skyscrapers. I'm not the guy cracking cold fusion or fixing jet engines. I talk. I overthink. And I can paint you a picture with words. Somehow, I also know how to run a set like a war room. Those are the tools I got. So I figured I better make something with 'em.

That led me to film. And I ran with it.

But six years in? The industry feels like a low-flow toilet at Chipotle after the lunch rush. Backed up. Stalled out. Everything’s jammed and nobody knows where it’s going.

And yeah, it messes with my head. Makes me wonder if the dream of financial freedom—the real dream, where I could do the work I love and own my time—is slipping away. I’m turning 38 tomorrow. And this? This isn’t where I thought I’d be by now.

But here’s the difference:

Yeah, I’ll work on other people’s projects. I’ll be held to someone else’s standard. I’ll show up, do the job, give everything I’ve got. But those jobs—they end. That time is rented, not owned. It's nothing compared to the decades people give to jobs that don’t give a shit whether they live or die.

You could drop dead at your desk next to Cindy—who doesn’t give a damn about your potted plant named Frank—and they’ll have someone in your chair finishing your quarterly report before your body’s even cold. Bagged, tagged, replaced.

That’s not how I’m trying to go out.

I want the space to create my own work. Tell the stories that matter to me. Still want that, if it’s still possible. I’m trying to hold on to that hope.

I’m trying not to give up.

Trying to have faith. And let go of the fear that keeps me clutching control like it’s a lifeline when maybe what I need is to let go and trust a little.

This isn’t a PSA. I’m not trying to sell you on a dream. I’m just telling you what’s real.

This is why I started Wolf and Blue.